Amidst the bustle of the busy street, a young woman confidently made her way through the rushing stream of pedestrians. The evening hours were fast encroaching with faint hues of gold and crimson, and she still had a massive to-do list that needed completing precisely eight hours ago.

Haruhi Fujioka, despite her meticulous planning of every minute detail, had forgotten one specific problem. Or, more accurately, six person-shaped problems—three of which are so debatably insane that Haruhi wondered why she even allowed them to drag her around. Secretly, she marvelled at how Kyoya and Mori had managed to retain their sanity for so long, with all the crazy shenanigans that occur on an almost daily basis.

Of course, there was also the possibility that, at this point, they were beyond giving even the slightest fuck.

She only wished she could reach that level of impassiveness.

Unfortunately, Haruhi happened to be the aforementioned hellspawns favourite person to mess with, and there was only so much Haruhi—like any normal person— could take without snapping. The day she had wandered into the Third Music room and accidentally broke that vase had been utter Hell, as well as the first indication that the universe absolutely hated her. Surprisingly, she found herself unwilling to change that moment for the world.

And no, by some miracle, she didn't have brain damage.

She'd checked.

Three times, to be exact.

A fly buzzed around her head. Absently, she batted it away, waiting for the traffic lights to turn red so she could cross. A child was screeching beside her, little face red with exertion. Blotting out the annoying sound, Haruhi turned her focus on something else.

The Host Club.

Haruhi loved her friends. Loved them, adored them, far, far more than they probably deserved, because they could be so unfathomably stupid. Impossibly stupid. Sometimes, in the midst of whatever chaos she was somehow involved in, because of course she was, she wondered how they were even still alive.

However well meaning their intentions, she couldn't deny that they could be annoying as hell. The list of things they seemed to lack increased day by day, hour by hour, minute by painful minute. Common sense, for one. The decency to at least warn a girl before crashing her tiny apartment, completely uninvited. The concept of personal space.

Unlike them, Haruhi didn't have an abundance of wealth. Her scholarship, her mind— searching, seeking, consuming knowledge— was what kept her in Ouran.

Thankfully, Kyoya understood her struggle.

Through rain and sun and some minor bloodshed, the two of them forged an unlikely bond based on mutual respect and their growing exasperation with their idiotic friends. So, if she reluctantly mentioned to him that she was falling behind in her studies and needed to be kept away from disturbances, his door would be open before she could even finish her request.

The first instance, she almost toppled off her chair in surprise.

The Big Moment™ occurred after hosting hours, after the others had already vacated the Third Music Room in favour of heading home. Kyoya remained behind purely for a peaceful environment to work in, Haruhi because she took it upon herself to clean the room. Technically she didn't have to, seeing as though there were cleaners employed, but she still did her best to at least minimise the mess.

Kyoya had, on occasion, ordered her to stop working.

She ignored him, of course.

Finally alone, he had the freedom to voice his worries about her health. Admittedly, she had been looking rather pale and sickly, so it was of no surprise to her that the eagle-eyed Shadow King had noticed. It didn't stop him from bluntly blurting, "You look awful." If she'd been any other girl at this school, the bespectacled boy probably would've been nailed in the head with some projectile.

Since it was Haruhi, she merely grimaced. "Thanks, Senpai. That's exactly the look I was going for today."

He rolled his eyes so hard they almost popped out their sockets and she continued stacking the china plates.

"Sit down." he instructed, after seeing the subtle sway in her last step

Too exhausted to argue, she settled down, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

She failed.

Miserably.

Even Tamaki, junked up a mixture of Red Bull and Crystal Meth— not that Haruhi especially knew what that looked like, though he figured it would likely involve her having to evacuate the surrounding area, change her name and move to America— would have noticed how her leg practically collapsed underneath her.

"Care to explain?"

Haruhi survived an impressive grand total of ten seconds under his fiercely disapproving gaze before she cracked. "It's not a big deal..." she started, and then petered off when his eyebrows hitched up so high they receded into his hairline.

"You're asleep on your feet, Haruhi."

"Come on, Kyoya-senpai. I'm not that bad." She attempted to defend. Keyword being attempted. Receiving only a flat, unconvinced stare in return, Haruhi deflated rather much like a balloon. "I've been staying up later than normal to study. I don't have as much free time as I used to and I don't want to fall behind. But it's nothing I can't handle and I won't let it get in the way of hosting," She quickly assured. "So you don't need to worry."

Not that you would, anyway, she thought to herself.

Kyoya's lips pursed together, the bespectacled boy cooly mulling this information over.

"Your body needs to rest, Haruhi. Continuing this unhealthy pattern will cause problems… not that it isn't already."

Like a scolded child, the girl bowed her head. "I know, senpai. I won't make a habit out of it."

Then came a breathy exhale, almost like a sigh. His folded hands came to rest underneath his chin, elbows propped up on the table. "Part of my responsibility is ensuring the safety of the members, you know that, don't you? Because of that, you neglecting your health like you are concerns me."

And that was when she was certain Kyoya had been replaced by an alien clone. The Shadow King openly admitting that he possessed, gasp, emotions? Impossible! It must be some kind of conspiracy! But his eyes were cool and calm and steady. Unwavering. Detached, because that wall was raised, and maybe that was why he was able to speak so freely, and—

Oh shit he's still talking.

"—Say, are you planning on studying over the weekend?"

Haruhi blinked, with the same kind of foggy incoherence as being jostled awake from a deep sleep. "Um. Yeah. I'm going to catch up on sleep for the next two days, so I'll have enough energy to finish my work then."

Kyoya nodded, accepting this with ease. "Excellent. My driver will arrive at 10 o'clock on Saturday, do try to be prepared." Ignoring her befuddled expression, he continued. "It's simple logic Haruhi. You need to study in a stable environment, and if you do so at my house, I can run interference for our little circus trope. Now, I can't promise you that my deterrents will be one hundred percent effective, but you and I both know this would be better than your current situation. I trust you don't have any complaints?"

He spoke with such finality that she didn't even bother to protest.

It would be a useless endeavour, after all. She'd been around The Shadow King long enough to know that he could be just as stubborn as her, if not more, to the frustration of everyone around them. The rare times that they fought, sparks would fly. It also meant that the other club members would tip-toe around them until they mutually decided to call a cease-fire, so that was most definitely a plus.

As mature, responsible young adults, they obviously never staged fights to get some peace and quiet. (Okay, it had been once and admittedly the twins were being little hell spawns and deserved every moment of fear).

And so, one time turned into two.

Two morphed to three, and soon enough, their little study sessions became a regular occurrence.

They found themselves mutually enjoying the other's company. Tucked away from the insanity of the Host Club, it was nice to sit back and relax. Sunday became their designated day of respite, where they were able to work without worry of interruption. That was aside from the several occasions when a panicked Tamaki or Hikaru (with Kaoru in the background), had called Kyoya, voicing concerns over Haruhi's location. After his phone rang for the fourth time in one day, an irritated Kyoya had threatened the caller with a visit from his private police force, before realising the recipient was his older sister, Fuyumi.

Other than that, they were left mostly at peace.

Due to their increasing bond it came as no surprise to them when, during the frequent escapades Tamaki conjured up, she and Kyoya unconsciously began to gravitate towards each other to provide a constant sarcastic commentary to keep each other entertained. They'd recently discovered that their sense of humour was remarkably similar and took every opportunity to exploit it.

Just today, when The Host Club had arrived unannounced at her apartment to forcefully take her on another one of Tamaki's half-baked schemes, she and Kyoya had stuck together like glue. From his less than stellar appearance (something which she most definitely ribbed him for) she wasn't the only one taken under duress.

In fact, Haruhi had originally been dressed in nightwear, a pair of ratty shorts and a faded plaid shirt, when she'd opened the door.

It had only been due to the combined efforts of Mori and Kyoya that she hadn't been dragged out in that state of dress. The bespectacled boy's swift intervention left enough time for her to slip back inside and Mori's protective glare stopped any of the hosts (read; Tamaki, Hikaru or Kaoru) from following her.

The door had been opened ten minutes later by a half-asleep Ranka.

Unfortunately, the hosts had attracted the attention of the entire street and were reluctantly ushered inside. A freshly dressed Haruhi was discovered in the kitchen, one leg up on the counter, fully intending to climb out of the window to escape. She'd been accosted and reluctantly allowed herself to be taken to the carnival.

If she was being honest, it wasn't quite as bad as she'd first imagined.

For the first hour or so, Honey had dragged her around in an excited haze. The small Senpai had been determined to visit every section of the carnival. With the multitude of bright, flashing distractions to waylay them, they hadn't managed it, but his insistence was endearing to say the least.

Her coat flapped in the light breeze. It carried the sweet scent of flowers from the potted box situated in a nearby shop-front. Content, she pushed away the locks of hair that fluttered in her face, and drew the material tighter around her frame.

She almost smiled again as she remembered how Tamaki had taken uncharacteristic joy in travelling on the subway. Kyoya, as expected, hadn't been all too pleased. Hot, cramped spaces were never a personal favourite of his, and it had clearly shown. Thankfully, Kyoya had been in a far more pleasant mood on the return journey, as she found herself crammed next to him. Then again, there was the fact that Kyoya seemed to genuinely like her far more than everyone else.

(Tamaki was unfortunate enough to be his travel buddy on the journey up. He'd exited the train pale and shaking. Neither boy disclosed the events and everyone else had enough self-preservation not to ask.)

(Still, she figured if they hadn't braved the journey, Haruhi wouldn't have been able to return that poor man's wallet. Apparently self-motivated, the wallet had made a wild escape from his jacket pocket reminiscent to that of a wriggling fish and landed on the floor just in front of her. Waving off his gratitudes, she jogged to catch up with her gaggle of disasters, who were trapped behind the ticket barrier. A smug, decidedly unhelpful Kyoya was watching from the other side, deliberately ignoring their cries for help).

On their way back, the boys had offered to escort her home from the train station. After trading a secret eye-roll with Kyoya, she politely declined.

Which is why she found herself wandering the streets alone.

Pausing to take a peek inside a nearby window, Haruhi was almost immediately knocked flat on her ass. Her bag sprawled next to her, phone clattering between her legs. A middle-aged man back-peddled, looking far more shocked than he was entitled to be, little mousy eyes widened comically.

"I'm sorry!" He stuttered, and then turned tail and bolted far faster than was strictly required.

Haruhi stared at the space he occupied all of a second ago, utterly bewildered. When he failed to re-emerge from the crowd, she began the arduous task of collecting herself— the middle of a busy pathway wasn't exactly the best resting place, after all.

Clambering to her feet, she absently brushed the dirt from her clothes, ochre orbs narrowing in thought.

That man looked familiar, for some reason.

Wincing, the girl replaced her thankfully undamaged phone and continued walking, knee sore from where it'd slammed painfully into a nearby lamppost. It'd surely bruise in the morning, but that was a problem for another day.

A chill ran up her spine.

Prickling discomfort followed, as her hair stood on end.

Haruhi pulled the lapels of her coat closer, hunkering further into the warmth. Keeping to the left, Haruhi kept as much distance between herself and the passing pedestrians as possible. The twisting, pulling, bunching sensation tearing her stomach apart shifted onto the wrong side of bearable, leaving her feeling sick with nervous energy.

The primodial part of her mind was screaming out, DANGERDANGERDANGER

Her eyes darted to the wing mirror of a parked car. Her reflection stared back, pale and strained.

And there, almost unnoticed, was a familiar flash of black. The man from before, the one that had almost trampled her. He was several paces behind, but easily keeping up. And, yeah. That was weird. Really weird. Hadn't he moved on ahead of her?

A beat, fuzzy with unexpected silence. The kind that crept up on unaware minds and catapulted them into a full-scale crisis at the speed of light.

Furrowing her brows, Haruhi attempted to steady her breathing, trying to focus.

Trying to think.

The realisation hit her the way she imagined a truck would. All at once, without any warning.

He was following her.

Had been following her, for a while now.

Because she wasn't crazy.

She had recognised that man.

That man with his old, battered wallet.

The crowd, nameless faces that had seemed so friendly before had turned overwhelming. Overbearing, pushing down on her from all directions, a blur of movement, of colour, of sounds, of talking—

Her grip tightened around her phone, squeezing hard enough to hurt. Should she call someone? Was this really worth bothering someone over? Her teeth gnawed away at her lip and maybe she'd torn the skin a little, because she tasted blood, and it really wasn't helping.

Distance.

She just needed distance.

Quickening her pace, Haruhi made it an entire block before a subtle backwards glance revealed him to still be directly behind, albeit a little further back than before.

So, Plan A had obviously failed, but she was a reasonable, rational person. Plans B through to Z were still intact. Admittedly, several of those less-thought out plans involved murder, and a high-speed police chase wasn't exactly on her bucket list, so she would really like to avoid exhausting at least 80 percent of her ideas.

But for now, Plan B.

Cross the street.

Which she did, without much fanfare.

And, problem solved—

Is what she was hoping to think. Only she was sorely mistaken. Because, low and behold, those same beady eyes hadn't left from their happy tail on her ass.

Briefly, she considered stepping on her laces. Stalling for time was a factor in several plans from E onwards, except she'd rather avoid death today, and separating from the protection of the thinning pedestrians seemed like an awful idea. Instead, she chose to weave between said people, in a desperate attempt to lose him.

Having at least a foot height advantage on her, he could follow the bobbing of her russet head with ease.

At this point, Haruhi had abandoned logical thinking.

Clearly it was getting her nowhere.

Her only viable alternative was running like shit.

So she did.

Breaking into a run, Haruhi bolted away, slipping with snake-like swiftness around other inconvenient obstacles, namely other pedestrians. In her haste, she almost bowled over a small child. In her defence, the little dumbass had continued skipping towards her, so she couldn't feel too sympathetic. Thankfully, the child's mother had pulled her out of the way just in time, so Haruhi's conscience could be eased.

Something that had failed to occur to Haruhi approximately 10 seconds ago, when she first stumbled across this brilliant idea, was the fact that she couldn't run for shit. Her stamina was shorter than her pinky finger. She wouldn't be surprised if some particularly motivated sloths could manage to outpace her.

Logically, she would have remembered this much sooner; say, before she started running entirely.

But she'd already fucked up, she might as well commit to it. The only alternative option was death, and that didn't sound particularly appealing.

God, she was so screwed.

Her salvation came in the form of a nearby convenience store. Ducking inside, Haruhi hastily made her way to the back of the shop, hunkering down behind one of the largest shelves and hoping she didn't look too suspicious to security.

Now really wasn't the time to get thrown out of the store.

With trembling hands, which she glared at for a good few seconds as if it would magically stop them, Haruhi pulled out her phone, calling her home number. She was hoping that at least some deity out there would take pity on her, and that her father would answer. When she was greeted with the sweet tone of her answer machine, the brunette unloaded every curse in her extensive vocabulary, trying a further three times.

Her father's cell phone gave exactly the same response.

She called twice.

The last call garnered a voicemail of swearing for a full five seconds, before Haruhi realised and hung up.

Blankly, she scrolled through her contacts, deciding it would be a cold day in Hell before she requested help from Tamaki. Despite him proving on several occasions his ability to be selectively responsible, Haruhi didn't trust him to not immediately go and attempt to punch the guys lights out, possibly getting stabbed in the process.

No, the murder of her friend was not something she wanted to witness today, previous thoughts of intentionally carrying the same act out herself aside.

Now, with that in mind, the twins were certainly out of the question. Hikaru was far too hot-headed to act rationally, he'd blow up in exactly the same way, and Kaoru, while being far more mature than his brother, would certainly be just as furious. With him, there were certain lines that should never be crossed. This, likely, was one of them.

That left Honey, Mori and Kyoya.

The girl hesitated.

Honey and Mori lived considerably further away from her than Kyoya did. And how did she know this? As ever, there was a long story involving Tamaki and intense murderous urges, but that's for another time. Distance, of course, meant it would take longer for them to reach her. And, while they were both experts at martial arts, it would mean fuck all if she was already dead in a ditch at that point.

As attractive as that sounded, Haruhi wasn't actively seeking death.

Which, of course, was why she was planning on calling Kyoya, one of the Host Club's resident demons.

To hell with it, she thought, as she dialled Kyoya's number. She'd much rather face a slightly peeved Kyoya than a potentially knife-wielding maniac. She knew she'd at least come out of one of those encounters still breathing, and a lot less bloody.

A distracted Kyoya answered on the fourth ring, his muffled, long-suffering voice emerged over the line despite the hand he must have clasped over the receiver, as he answered an unintelligible question. "I'll take a tall glass of Hemlock, thank you. No ice." He then promptly choked on his spit when he realised his blunder. "Water," he corrected, quickly. "I meant water."

(He didn't mean water. Water didn't even sound like what he meant. Pass it on.)

He recovered after a short breath. "Tamaki, I believe I've made it abundantly clear that you're not to call me during dinner for any reason short of death—"

"I'm not Tamaki-Senpai, if that helps."

A beat of pure, suffocating silence. Then a solemn, "What's happening?"

"Death, likely."

"Haruhi." The sternness of his tone almost made her giggle, and now really wasn't the appropriate time to be giggling.

"You sound so serious."

"Usually you only call me if it's an emergency," She didn't bother to comment on the fact that Tamaki and the twins appearing at her house apparently counted as an emergency. "So, I'll ask again. What's wrong?"

"I'm being stalked by a creeper who may or may not be debating the best way to wear my skin as a dress." Kyoya awkwardly cleared his throat. She heard a click, and receding footsteps as he excused himself from the table. "Was I on speaker?"

"Nope," She didn't think she'd ever heard Kyoya say nope before, much less pop the p. The world certainly was strange. "However, it's rather apparent that the acoustics in the dining hall are a lot better than I thought. Where are you?"

"In that big convenience store near my house. Yes, the one we all went to together— don't think I didn't notice you all. I did. I just have an amazing talent of ignoring absolutely everything that takes too much effort to deal with."

"Noted." Low murmurs emanated on the other end of the line. Kyoya was talking to somebody, a short, muffled exchange of words, before he was back. "Can you see him from where you are?"

Haruhi fought against the urge to peek. "No. I'm hiding behind some shelves, right at the back of the store. He was outside the last time I saw him, I'm not sure whether or not he saw me come in."

More talking, followed by the slamming of a door. "Alright, that's fine. Stay inside."

"Oh, should I now? Because if you hadn't said that, I was definitely going to confront him."

She could almost hear him rolling his eyes in the ensuing beat of silence. Still, his next words were calm and velvet-smooth, setting her at ease in a way she wasn't expecting. Soft-Kyoya was a surprise, but certainly not a terrible one. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd witnessed this aspect of Kyoya's personality, and each time was always a pleasure. "I'm sorry to ask this, but do you think you could check his position for me, Haruhi?"

"I'd really rather not." was her automatic reply, which earned a chuckle from the boy.

"Yes, I'd figured you'd say something like that. However, you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, don't you?"

She grimaced, hesitating for a half a second. God, his effectiveness was almost underhanded at this point, she couldn't stand a chance against him when he asked like that. Soft, coaxing her with such overwhelming understanding— she'd do just about anything for that voice. Despite her internal battle, she did eventually rise, head swivelling as she assessed her surroundings.

Oh shit—

That plan was jossed rather quickly. She hit the deck with incredible speed, a tinny cry emerging from the speaker in response to what must have sounded like a small earthquake to Kyoya. "He's inside." She reported, interrupting whatever he had been saying as she raised the phone back to her ear. "I saw him standing near the entrance. The produce section."

"Okay," Kyoya said, and she couldn't quite understand how he could be so calm. "Don't panic, and calmly move into a different aisle. Try your best to keep an eye on him, and tell me if he moves. Alright?"

She nodded.

A long silence, and then his voice returned, thick with badly-suppressed amusement. "You just nodded, didn't you?"

"No. Shut up."

God, she hated him sometimes.

Which was a flagrant lie, but she would defend it until the day she died.

Still, Kyoya kept a steady commentary, all low and slow and somehow soothing in a way that she would have found hard to believe maybe two or three months ago. All too soon, she found herself ducking back to safety. "The target is on the move," she reported, with her best spy-voice.

"Be serious." Kyoya said.

Killjoy.

"Hey," Haruhi protested, quietly. "If I'm being stalked I might as well enjoy it."

Haruhi imagined the boy was pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing wearily. He was too fond to be anything other than mildly exasperated. "Is he coming towards you?"

She deliberated for a long moment. "Somewhat."

"Somewhat?"

"He hasn't seen me yet," she offered, to clarify. "He's wandering near the front of the store…" Realisation arrived, complete with a small, almost impressed gasp. "That little— He's patrolling the entrance. Senpai, he knows I'm here for sure and he's making sure I can't leave."

"Well. That may be a slight problem." Kyoya offered, diplomatically. "Why don't you try the bathroom, Haruhi? At least if you wait for me there, you'll have a locked door between the two of you."

Kyoya would have called it a precaution, which coated the entire situation in so much sugar that Haruhi felt her pancreas kill itself. Despite that, she still followed his suggestion and found herself locked in the disabled bathroom.

"This is quite possibly the worst place to be at this current point in time."

"That doesn't matter, you won't be there for long. I'm almost there."

She breathed a sigh of relief, before baulking. "Wait, you're what— The hell you doing driving that thing like a freaking Hot Wheels?"

She could almost see Kyoya shrug with the epitome of nonchalance. "Blame my driver."

A cool voice replied, "I was informed that it was a matter of life and death."

Of course Tachibana, ever the favourite uncle-figure, wouldn't pass up on a prime opportunity to embarrass his young charge. Haruhi made a mental note to thank him later for doing God's work. This information would be filed away for later, with the rest of her blackmail— er, gently persuasive material.

"Haruhi?"

"Still alive," she replied, humorlessly. "For now, that is."

"Reassuring." A slamming door. "I'm outside. I'll be there in a second." True to his word, she could hear the quiet din as he jogged through the store, a lilting pop song playing from the overheard speakers.

"You're going to walk into the women's toilets?"

"That is exactly what I would have been planning," Kyoya said, light as ever. "Only from the lack of sound, you're definitely not there. Disabled cubicle, I gather?"

"You know, you ruin all of my fun, Senpai."

A sharp rapping at the door brought a smile to her face, coupled with the combined sound of Kyoya's voice, both from the phone, and from directly outside. "I think I can deal with that."

Door now open, Haruhi was completely unabashed at the way his hands carefully cupped her cheeks, tilting her head side to side to search for any injuries.

"I'm fine, Kyoya-senpai," she assured, brushing away his probing fingers. She took notice of the bag slung across his body, the bulk resting firmly over his hip. "Just a bit shaken up. Did you see him on your way in?"

His concern faded into understanding, head craning as he used his height advantage to scan over the taller shelves. "To be perfectly honest, nobody really caught my eye. Although I can't say I've met enough psychopathic stalkers to pick one out of a crowd." He flashed a humoured smile, which she returned. "For now, I propose we leave. I imagine we haven't received the best attention so far."

"You could say that." Haruhi agreed, eyeing a couple of gossiping women staring at them from the next aisle over.

Tentatively, she took the hand he offered her. His skin was smooth, unblemished— just like she'd expected, warm beneath her touch. Together, they headed towards the exit, Haruhi unconsciously pressing closer upon spotting her new Best Friend™.

Kyoya stiffened.

The movement was all confused tension, a blind, groping hand latching onto her jacket and tucking her in to safety, before his eyes finally found their target, and he understood.

"That's him?" Kyoya murmured, narrowed eyes fixed on the man.

She nodded, fighting back a glare of her own. With Kyoya by her side, her fear was very quicking hardening into anger. As they approached him, Kyoya didn't look nearly as alarmed as he should.

"Trust me," he whispered in what was probably the sweetest, most gentle tone she'd ever heard from the boy.

She would trust Kyoya with her life.

They passed him, striding confidently towards the car as one complete being.

For a moment, she didn't dare breathe, didn't dare hope—

"W-Wait!"

Kyoya turned.

In one fluid motion, he'd drawn her behind him, contact kept in a loose hand around her arm.

The man had exited. He nervously picked at his hands as he approached. "I—" Beady eyes settled on Kyoya and narrowed dangerously. "Who are you?"

Kyoya cocked an eyebrow, but otherwise made no other indication that he'd heard the man speak.

"You're the one that's been bothering Haruhi, correct?" He smiled his typical, charming smile. Haruhi could feel the frostiness of his glare from where she was standing. "Of course, you don't need to confirm anything. I'm already perfectly aware of the fact that you've been stalking her. Come near her again and I will personally rip your arms from your body."

"No. No. You don't understand. You can't do that— I just wanted to—"

"I don't care for your reasons, whatever they may be." Kyoya said, cold as ice. "You followed her, harassed her when she was clearly frightened. Whatever you had to do is irrelevant now, and if you take another step towards us, you will force me to take actions that I would really rather not. I'm warning you now, I have pepper spray and I will use it."

The man's eyes bugged at the words. He craned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Haruhi from where she was shielded behind Kyoya. His face was pale and pointed and almost desperate, and then Kyoya stepped deftly to the side and blocked her from view.

"Please— I need to talk to her. I need to— I have to talk to her."

"I'm afraid that you are not entitled to her time. You've done enough, so kindly take your leave."

"You can't keep her from me."

Clearly the man had no intention of leaving. Sensing the underlying threat, Kyoya slowly started backing them away, towards the car. His grip on her wrist tightened, and Haruhi felt her stomach roll with a sick mix of dread and apprehension. "I have warned you. Do not make me use this."

"You have no right— she's my— You can't keep her away!" The man, already half hysterical, was becoming consumed by an ever growing maniacal energy. He followed them, either completing missing the two teenager's growing discomfort and fear, or dismissing it altogether.

"Senpai, the car." Haruhi urged, tugging on the back of his shirt.

"I need to see her again. You don't understand. I know the truth— I know— she's not yours to keep from me!"

"Kyoya!"

The man abruptly jerked forward, grasping at thin air. Kyoya tried to steer them both away, and stumbled over Haruhi's foot as he twisted out of reach.

A hand managed to grab her arm and yank—

Only for the man to reel back, screaming his throat hoarse as Kyoya mercilessly unloaded a full bottle of pepper spray in his face. Haruhi automatically threw her hands up to shield herself. She hadn't even been the target and yet her eyes were watering. Offering little resistance, she was quickly guided back to Kyoya's side, well out of the spray's reach.

Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, Kyoya returned the now empty bottle to his bag.

"That wasn't very smart, now, was it?" If his flaming eyes were any indication, The Shadow King had traversed past pissed off and settled comfortably on absolutely livid. Snapping a picture or two with his phone, Kyoya smiled coolly. "I'll be reporting this incident to the police. This picture will be spread around my own private police force for them to take immediate action should you appear within a five mile radius of Haruhi. I trust you'll see sense. If not, that lesson will be learned very quickly, I assure you."

With that, Kyoya carefully weaved his hand back in hers and guided her to his car.

Tachibana, door thrown wide open, clearly mere milliseconds away from delivering the biggest beatdown of the century, nodded at them both, tight-lipped and utterly relieved.

In the safety of the back seat, Kyoya soaked his handkerchief with a bottle of water, and handed it to her. "Here, clean your face. Be careful of your eyes."

Haruhi's hand was limp at her side. "Did you just—"

"I did."

"With pepper spray?"

"All of it."

She collapsed into hysterical laughter, halfway between tears of fear and mirth.

Kyoya, for the most part, allowed her this short moment of respite. Instead of speaking, he carefully rolled up her sleeve, fingers lightly probing the red indents ringing her wrist. "It doesn't hurt." She reassured, breathlessly. "He didn't grab me that hard."

"He shouldn't have been able to put his hands on you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous, it wasn't your fault, senpai."

She was still shaking. Seemingly moving on auto-pilot, Kyoya took the handkerchief from her and dabbed the damp cloth against her face. It felt like heaven against her burning skin. "I don't know how much of the spray got on you. Take a shower as soon as you get home, and wash these clothes."

"Okay." Haruhi agreed, catching his eyes and smiling wanly.

His hand dropped abruptly back down.

Without question, she took the cloth and allowed him to shift away, back to his side of the car.

Outside the window, the sky was streaked with inky blue. The streetlamps flickered to life; the neon signs painting his profile blue and red. He looked elegant, leaning into his propped up arm, skin awash with colour. The tension hadn't yet left him, leaving his entire body wired like a spring.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes roaming the shopfronts.

Haruhi considered the question.

Considered lying, even though it would be useless.

"I was terrified. Still am, actually." She said, eventually. Honestly.

"That makes two of us, then."

His tone was light. Offhand. From anyone else, it would come across almost careless. But that? That was deliberately casual, and Haruhi knew for a fact that from Kyoya, the admission was anything but. It was achingly personal, a confession drawn from the very depths of his guarded heart and bared before her.

Something small and delicate and in need of protection; it was the tiniest sliver of trust.

A bright smile curved at her features, warming her from the tips of her toes upwards.

"Thank you, Senpai."

In the reflection of the window, she caught his returning smile. "Anytime."


A/N: Wow, my first ever Ouran story. This idea has been sitting around on my computer for a while and a had a sudden rush of inspiration (Read: I was fiercely procrastinating) so I thought, why not?

I find the relationship between Haruhi and Kyoya so interesting, especially the angle used in the Live-action drama, where Kyoya displays a far more caring, protective side. Saying that, both characters are extremely hard to write, so they may seem completely out of character. I tried my best to keep them true to their original personalities, but I'm open to constructive criticism for any ways I could improve my work.

This may or may not remain a one-shot, it depends on whether I find any inspiration to create a further story. For now, I'm satisfied for it to remain finished here.

UPDATE AS OF 14/05/18: A continuation is in the works! I have at least ten chapters outlined (and several more as simple ideas), two of which are complete. Writing is slow, with college and looming uni applications and whatnot, but I'm getting there. I won't post until I have about five fully written, because knowing me I'd procrastinate for months. But rest assured, Stalker will be continuing!